


Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

by Lennonspecs (orphan_account)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Lots of Drugs, M/M, Oneshot, Overdose, Plot What Plot, drugs are the plot, i'm going to sleep now, i've been so tired all day and this was the only thing on my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lennonspecs
Summary: Addiction hurts everyone involved.





	Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

**Author's Note:**

> Me messing around with some plots because it's late and I'm interested in what works and what doesn't

Freddie stood in the middle of the room, his breathing heavy and ragged.

It could have been a thousand strangers staring back at him, admiring his the way he carelessly slips across the stage or a hopeful, naive light twinkling at him from a young fan who was still coming to grips with being face to face with Freddie Mercury - one of the greats. Or it could have been another man, another stranger, someone who had shared an intimacy that so many have done before but still kept the privacy and the tenderness of it alive. Freddie could visualise that man now, sitting at the edge of the bed and buttoning up the shirt that was creased from the night before, planning on creeping away before any promises of a future were arranged. Then he would stalk out the following night, intending to do the exact America thing and experience the same intimacy again. 

But it wasn't like that. It was a frail, confused man uncontrollably shaking in his own home because he couldn't remember what happened the previous night. Who he was with, what he did, who he called or what he had taken. The only company was the three men who had cared for Freddie throughout it all, the three men who had promised to never give up on him, the three men who had been dragged through the depths of hell yet still were there in the morning; still there wiping the sweat off of his forehead, whispering about how proud they are of his recovery. But now, there's only the bitter disappointment of being let down again. 

"What happened this time?" Asked Joe, his tone illegible.

"I can't remember." Freddie murmured, his lip trembling. 

"You have to remember." Joe stated, his voice growing louder. "Everytime you go out and can't remember anything something with your addiction has happened."

"I'm sorry." Freddie breathed, newly found tears springing down his cheeks. "I can't remember, I don't know what happened."

"Did you go to your dealer? Fall asleep in the middle of an alleyway with a needle sticking out of your arm? Then did you wake up at the crack of dawn, dazed and alone while surrounded by blood? Or did you attack another person for money because you wasted your own fortune on your drugs?" Joe continued, his face deadpan. 

"I don't know." Freddie repeated, biting the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. "I don't know." 

 

It was the start of a cycle. 

Freddie stays out all night and returns the next morning, confused and without a memory of what happened.

Freddie begs for forgiveness. Which he is given. 

Freddie falls into a worse state, refusing to sleep, being sick, lashing out and hurting those trying to help mentally and physically. 

Freddie cries and says he's sorry. They tell him it needs to stop. He agrees.

Freddie asks for money. They refuse.

Freddie breaks down.

Freddie stays out all night and returns the next morning, confused and without a memory of what happened.

 

22:00

"Don't let me out." Freddie said, nodding towards the front door. "It doesn't matter what I say." He managed a weak smile before padding up the stairs to his bedroom. Sweat and a fever were already kicking in. His body knows what it wants.

00:00

Freddie lied against the door, holding his knees up to his chest, his head buried into his legs. 

"I need it." He sobbed, rocking himself back and forth. 

"You don't." Jim softly replied, bending down next to him. 

Something inside of him switched.

A cackle slipped out of Freddie's throat. He waltzed to his feet, staring down hideously. 

"Oh, I do." He whispered, his tone cut-edge. Freddie rolled his shoulders back, grasping at the top of his hair, his eyes frantic. "None of you can accept it, can you? None of you can accept that you're all going to be second to the drugs, always." His voice shook as he screamed, scrunching up his face, angry tears steadily falling. "They all said it was going to happen, they all would watch me and wait for today. The day when Freddie Mercury cracks, when he falls back into the pathetic, vulnerable state he tries so hard to cover up. But the drugs, the drugs are the things that keep me going. They give me the sense of worth and purpose that you or Joe or Peter or the fans can never give me." Freddie seethed, throwing his hands over his eyes. He was hysterical. "It's so fucked up."

He didn't even notice Joe and Peter standing in the doorway, resting their heads against the wall. Exhausted. 

02:00

Freddie lied on the floor, silently crying. Jim took his hand, pulling him to his feet. He barely acknowledged it. 

"You need to get some sleep. If you don't have the energy to get upstairs, you can just sleep on the sofa." Jim said, gesturing towards it. Freddie let out a sob, throwing his arms around his neck. 

"Please don't give up on me. You're all I have left, I need you." He begged, burying himself into Jim's shoulder. 

"Just get to sleep." Jim wearily responded, stroking the back of Freddie's hair. "Nobody's giving up on you."

04:00

Freddie snuggled in deeper to his boyfriend, drifting in and out of conciousness, his mind growling for something - anything - to keep the craving away. 

Jim held the quivering body close to his, instinctively stroking it whenever it flinched as a response to another night terror or a sudden spike of nausea. 

"I feel sick." Freddie mumbled, his eyes red and bloodshot. 

"I know you do." Jim murmured, holding the side of his face. "It's going to be like that for a while."

"I'm sorry." Freddie said, allowing the sweat to be wiped off of the side of his face. 

"I know you are." Jim sighed, rubbing the scars scattered around Freddie's arms from various needles in the past. 

 

It was never ending. Each day held a new issue, more mood swings, more crying and falling deeper into the addiction. The drugs had became Freddie's rock and he wasn't prepared to let them go.

 

Freddie threw himself across the room, screaming into his hands. 

"I just need some spare cash." He pleaded, grabbing at his shirt. "It's the last time, I swear."

Peter shook his head, tired from the constant screaming. 

"Please!" Freddie shrieked, sinking to the floor. "I need my fix." He explained, desperately pointing at the scarring on his arm. 

"You're not having any money, Fred. You wasted all of your own on ruining your life, you're not doing the same now." Peter calmly said, shrugging his shoulders. "You need to pull through."

Freddie collapsed on the ground, his body lifeless. "It's still in me. I can't get rid of it." 

"You can but you won't with the begging for money. You can't recover from anything if you refuse the help you need."

"Please, Peter." He cried, embracing himself as if protecting himself from danger. "I don't want to recover. I just want the drugs." 

 

The excuses against recovery were endless.

"The press will find out if I go to rehab and they will sell the story."

"Being cooped up with a load of strangers won't help me as much as staying with you lot will."

"Rehab never truly works. It's just boredom, cups of tea and praying."

"I can deal with it on my own."

"I don't want help."

Freddie loved to be in control. He wanted to be in control of his life, of his choices, of his death. His perfectly sculpted world of fame and fortune had been destroyed in front of him. Yet he had hit the goal that millions of people can merely dream of. He's loved all around the world, he has people bursting into tears just because he uttered a single word to them, he has the whole musical industry at his fingertips. 

He would tell himself this in the daily, reminding him that he has so many reasons to live. He reminded himself of those words on his final day of shooting up. He reminded himself of those words when he was carrying out his decision to die before he caused anymore damage. 

 

Freddie sighed deeply as the chemicals hit through him, his muscles tensing and releasing at the sudden jet of an overdose. He closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. 

Peter, Jim and Joe will understand. The press can take it as what they want, interpret it into their own articles, slamming Freddie for sudden exposure of gay affairs and, of course, drugs. But that wouldn't matter. He wouldn't be there to see it.

His fantasy had came to an end. It was his goodbye to the yellow brick road.


End file.
